


Misunderstanding

by Silent_So_Long



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Arguing, M/M, Misunderstandings, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 06:09:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3518303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul, Richard and a misunderstanding</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misunderstanding

**Author's Note:**

> The following story was inspired by a dream I recently had.

Paul stalked through the doors of the supermarket, and felt the warmth of inside buffeting against his body; it almost felt like a physical assault after the coldness of the street outside and he still could feel the faint flecks of snow resting against his hair and his skin, already melting after the drastic change in temperature. The press of other shoppers around him proved almost too much to bear for a brief and uncertain moment, yet the need for food and for other essentials spurred him onwards.

He could feel Richard’s brooding presence following in his wake; the other man’s dissatisfaction and anger was just as warm as the supermarket‘s interior, and just as much of a burden as that week’s chores. That Richard knew that something was wrong was obvious; the other man had even asked Paul before they’d left what the problem was, yet Paul had brushed Richard’s question aside with a shrug and a vain attempt at a smile that did not fool Richard nor allay his suspicions. 

Paul sighed, as he paused before a rack overflowing with various kinds of vegetables; he inhaled, and smiled slightly at the fresh scents that assailed his senses - the sharp tang of onions, the more earthier scents of potatoes and the odd, almost acrid scent of peppers. He reached for a small bag of potatoes and a net bag filled with sweet red onions, and placed them in his trolley before he moved on. Paul was aware of Richard still following in his wake; when he glanced quickly over his shoulder, Paul saw that Richard had shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets, a posture that accentuated the other man’s vaguely angry and dissatisfied slouch. 

Paul turned away before Richard could become aware of his scrutiny; he suddenly did not want to attract undue attention from the other man, as he still felt anger, even suspicion towards him. Over the past few weeks alone, Paul had lost count of the mornings that he’d awoken and Richard had either already left the confines of their apartment, or was just on his way out, dressed in his best clothing. Sometimes, Richard would not return for some hours; on other days, he’d return in two. 

Oftentimes Paul wondered where Richard went, yet Richard himself was keeping his whereabouts secret. Paul had tried idly asking, backing his questions up with a joke or a sunny smile, hoping that normality would perhaps draw the other man out, yet Richard would inevitably clam up every time; his features would draw tight and close, body taking an almost defensive posture as though the other man was purposefully keeping something from him. That had scared Paul at first, that perhaps something was wrong with their relationship, yet in all other matters, Richard was the same as he ever had been; the time spent in their bedroom at night did not lack the levels of intimacy they‘d shared before and even the odd kiss and cuddle of an evening felt the same to Paul. 

His initial fright had then turned to suspicion, then to anger and the fear had returned, twice as strongly as before. Paul had all but convinced himself that Richard was perhaps cheating on him, that he’d grown bored of the relationship and was just looking for an excuse to leave him behind. Pain offset his rage, that he wasn’t good enough any more to hold Richard's interest, and that feeling felt like a lead weight against his mind and his chest. 

Paul must have been frowning, his growing dissatisfaction showing upon his face even without him realizing it; he stopped before the display of peaches and plucked a punnet of soft fruit from the rack, barely checking for ripeness, when he felt Richard’s hand upon his arm. The other man’s palm felt warm, even through the covering of Paul’s coat sleeve. Paul jerked away in surprise as though burnt, and saw the hurt look upon Richard’s face, as though his reaction had come as a surprise, even a shock to the other man. That almost broke his resolve to be angry at Richard; that Richard could look that hurt proved that things couldn’t have been as fucked up as Paul had assumed. Then his anger returned; all the doubts and self-recriminations followed swiftly in anger‘s wake. 

“What?” he snapped into Richard’s suddenly too soulful eyes and Paul suddenly felt as though he’d just kicked the smallest, most defenseless puppy in the world. 

“What’s wrong, darling?” Richard asked, and there, there was the term of endearment that usually warmed Paul, that show of rare intimacy that showed Paul that he meant something to Richard.

Right then, he felt as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it.

“Nothing,” he snapped, almost too angry to say even that one, singular word. 

“It’s not fucking nothing, Paul,” Richard said, hurt displaced by anger now. “You’ve been acting funny all day and I want to know why.” 

Paul mentally replaced the word want with the word demand, as though Richard had thought that but had chosen not to say it. He snorted, more to himself than to Richard, knowing that the other man had no right to make demands of him at that point in time. 

“And don’t say you’re fucking fine, Paulchen, before you say anything,” Richard continued, before Paul could, indeed, make noises to that effect. “Anyone can see that you're not.” 

Paul bit back a barrage of angry words, knowing that he couldn’t make a scene when so many people surrounded them; even now, some of the shoppers that shared the same space as them were beginning to take an interest in the drama unfolding in their very midst. 

“Fine,” he said. “Something’s wrong, but I think the problem’s with you, not with me.” 

“Why? What the hell have I done?” Richard asked, and his surprise seemed genuine to Paul.

Paul glanced at an over curious lady standing beside him, and moved away, to a remotely more private place in the cake aisle. He could smell the sweet confections around him, coupled with the equally delicious scents of the bread nearby; the combined aromas had started to make him feel hungry, which distracted him slightly from his anger and what had finally started to unfold between them. To say that Paul wasn’t surprised that things had finally come to a head was an understatement, yet Paul himself had expected them to sort things out in the privacy of their own home, rather than in the more public arena of a twice-damned supermarket. 

“You know what you’ve done,” Paul hissed, when Richard joined him, a puzzled expression upon the other man’s face. 

“No,” Richard maintained, and his confusion looked genuine.

“You’re never home any more,” Paul said, finally, after a brief pause to gather his words and his thoughts. “It feels as though you’re avoiding me. Who are you seeing?”

“No one,” Richard said, but there was a sudden trapped look in his eyes that told Paul that the other man was keeping something from him. 

“I don’t believe you,” Paul said, as he turned away, to randomly snatch a package of red velvet cupcakes from the shelf beside him.

He felt as though he had to distract himself with something; he grimaced when he realized what he’d almost put in his trolley and put them back. Neither man even liked red velvet cupcakes; instead, he replaced them with cherry muffins, something which usually proved enjoyable for them both. Paul snorted at himself; even in the midst of an impending argument, he still was thinking of Richard, and of sharing things as they always did. 

“I’m not seeing anyone,” Richard said, and this time, when he rested his hand upon Paul’s arm, Paul didn’t jerk away. “Paul, please, you have to believe me, I’m seeing no one. What’s got this insane notion into your head anyway?”

“Insane? Fucking hell, Reesh, but you’re ridiculous. You’re never home, you’re secretive, you won’t tell me where you’ve been. What the hell am I supposed to think but that you’ve found someone else?” Paul said. “Obviously. I’m not good enough for you anymore.”

“Jesus, Paul. I’m not doing this here,” Richard said, as he half turned away.

“You fucking asked,” Paul shot at his back and saw the other man’s shoulders suddenly tense up at his words.

Then Richard’s shoulders sagged and he knew that he’d scored a point; Richard couldn’t argue against that even if he could argue against any number of other accusations thrown his way. Bizarrely, that gave Paul a savage sense of satisfaction, as though he’d won points in an odd competition that he didn’t even know they were competing in. 

“I’m not seeing anyone,” Richard said, in that dead tone of voice that Paul always associated with people who weren’t lying, yet expected to be disbelieved.

That almost broke Paul’s heart and he started doubting himself and his own motives. 

“Then why? Where have you been?” he asked, and his voice, that time, was softer, quieter, a little more polite than his angry tones of before. 

“I can’t tell you,” Richard said, and when he looked at Paul again, there was pain in his eyes, indecision, yet no guilt.

“Why not?” Paul asked, as he frowned out his confusion at the other man.

“It’s a surprise,” Richard replied, after a brief pause.

“Fucking hell, Reesh,” Paul said, in disgust as he turned away.

“What? Believe me when I say I can’t tell you,” Richard said, hand descending again on Paul’s shoulder. “I’m doing this for you.”

“What? Staying out at all hours? Avoiding me? What? Are you trying to give me a break from you or something? Trust me, if I wanted a break, I would have told you, instead of sneaking around like you’ve been doing,” Paul spat out.

“It's not that. I love you, Paul,” Richard said and that admission brought Paul up short.

Even though he knew intrinsically that Richard loved him, it was very rare that Richard spoke his love aloud; instead, it was there in every touch, every kiss and caress, every glance and gesture bestowed upon him. His resolve faded a little and he could do no more than stare up at Richard, lost for a moment beneath the conviction that shaded the other man’s eyes and tightened his jaw. He didn’t pull away when Richard cupped his face with both hands, thumbs rubbing gently at his cheeks.

“I love you,” Richard said again and Paul believed him. 

Richard sighed and that one exhalation seemed like a release of some kind.

“You’ve given me no choice but to tell you,” Richard said and Paul could see the genuine frustration in the other man’s face, his eyes at that. 

Paul nodded, genuinely curious despite himself; he tried to ignore the cold ball of sadness mingled with guilt that had set up camp somewhere in the vicinity of his chest. He felt as though somehow he’d made a terrible mistake and that there genuinely was a logical explanation for Richard’s behaviour. 

“I’ve been trying to make you a birthday gift,” Richard sighed and there was defeat now in his gaze. “A special one.”

“And that required you to spend all hours out of the apartment?” Paul asked, in surprise. 

“Yeah, well, you don’t know what the gift is, do you?” Richard asked, sharply, before he sighed and dotted an apologetic kiss against Paul’s mouth.

Paul closed his eyes and permitted the kiss, surprised at how easy it was to respond despite the anger of a few moments before. Richard took that as a good sign for he kissed him again and harder that time. 

“I’ve been in the studio,” Richard said, once the kiss had ended and Paul looked askance at him. “Don’t laugh, but I’ve been recording you a song.” 

“A song?” Paul asked, in surprise. “Seriously? A song?”

Laughter was far from his mind at that point. Instead, he frowned, and wondered whether he believed what Richard was telling him, yet it seemed too bizarre, too random to be a lie. 

“Yeah, a song,” Richard replied, in the tone of voice that indicated that perhaps he’d guessed at Paul’s uncertainty over his explanation. “I know it’s not the most usual of gifts, but that’s why I decided to do it. I wanted to give you something different, more special than just chocolates, or clothes or whatever, y’know? So why not a song?” 

“Why not indeed,” Paul asked as the cold ball of guilt in his chest ignited into a white hot ball of shame. ”Have you really been recording a song for me?“

“Yes. I said I was, didn’t I?” Richard asked, with a snort of affectionate disapproval. “I’ll even play you a rough demo if you want, if you don’t believe me.”

“I think that would help,” Paul said, quietly, as Richard pulled his phone from his pocket with an aggrieved sigh.

“Fine,” Richard said, as he scrolled through the phone’s menu and opened a file. “Just so you know, this is not the finished product, but I’ll still play it, just so you get the idea.” 

Paul nodded and cast his gaze down to the phone’s glowing screen; he noticed that the file that Richard had opened was entitled Paul’s Song. Paul listened as best as he could over the noise of the supermarket; the song itself was a mid-tempo affair, yet although he could not hear the words properly, he heard enough to know that Richard was telling the truth. One tear tracked its way down his cheek when he heard the other man’s feelings stripped bare and set to music, incomprehensible perhaps to random listeners, yet meaningful all the same to him. 

He looked up at Richard, who smiled slightly and silently wiped the single tear away with the ball of his thumb. Paul turned his head and kissed the other man’s palm awkwardly, which at least made Richard laugh a little; Richard always had had sensitive palms and Paul knew that his lips and his beard had just tickled him again. 

“You must think I'm a complete idiot,“ Paul said, with a shaky, embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry, Reesh, for doubting you.”

“So you should be, but I guess you didn’t know,” Richard said, with a rough snort. “Which was kind of the point, actually. Still, probably in your shoes, I would have thought the same. I didn’t realize just what effect all of this might have had on you.” 

“Don’t fucking do it again,” Paul said, gruffly as he slid his arms around Richard’s waist. “I mean the sneaking around. You can write me as many goddamned songs as you like, though.”

Richard laughed aloud at that, even as he slipped his arms around Paul and gave him a tight bear hug. 

“You’re an idiot, sometimes, Paul, but I do love you, you know,” Richard said, as he pressed a rough kiss against the side of Paul’s head. 

“I know,” Paul said, quietly, as he turned his head to look up at Richard again.

Suddenly he didn’t know what else to say; words seemed insufficient right then to convey all that he was feeling. Even he wasn’t entirely sure what he was feeling; every emotion seemed a jumbled mess inside him at that moment, mingled shame, guilt, and tenderness towards Richard held within him. Richard didn’t seem to mind his lack of words; it seemed as though he didn’t know what to say either. Instead, he leant in and rubbed his nose against Paul’s in a gentle Eskimo kiss that made Paul laugh with its unexpected intimacy. He accepted the proper kisses that Richard dotted against his lips and his cheeks, before he patted the other man awkwardly on the back, suddenly aware that they were attracting stares again, but for a very different reason than before. 

“People are staring, Reesh,” he murmured, with growing embarrassment.

“Let them stare,” Richard murmured back as he pressed another, more defiant kiss against Paul’s cheek that left a smacking wet mark against his skin. 

Paul huffed out an embarrassed laugh yet still he didn’t pull away. Despite his growing embarrassment, he didn’t mind the kisses or the very public hug; the fact that he still had Richard to hold, with suspicion stripped away and thrown to the four winds was a relief to him. An hour previously and he wouldn’t have believed that such a thing was possible. He patted Richard’s back again, in a prelude to speaking. 

“C’mon, Reesh, we’ve still got the shopping to finish,” he said, before he dotted a gentle kiss against Richard’s mouth. 

He felt the other man sigh against him, yet still neither man moved, too content to snuggle for a little while longer. Finally Paul eased away with a smile and led Richard over to the bread, the other man’s hand a comforting weight against his back. 

::::

That night seemed darker than usual, and filled with a snowy bite in the air when Paul slipped beneath the covers; Richard was already in bed, eyes partially drooping closed with weariness. Paul settled down beside him, and began to fidget when he couldn’t, at first, find a comfortable position. 

Richard leant in, when Paul had finally settled, chin butting up against Paul’s shoulder. He didn’t speak, yet Paul didn’t really expect him to; instead, he accepted the kiss that Richard gave him, lips lingering against lips in a warm and affectionate brush. Paul turned into Richard a little more, hand rising to push against the back of the other man’s pyjamas; the nap was soft and well worn beneath his palm, yet comforting in its familiarity. 

Richard sighed into his touch, and snuggled a little closer, as his hand travelled further down Paul’s body. It seemed to Paul as though Richard expected him to shy away, to push his hand far from his body; he supposed that he could understand the other man’s hesitancy. The memory of their earlier argument and resultant bad atmosphere was still a fresh one, yet he knew that he’d long since forgiven Richard for all that he’d inadvertently put him through; that Richard was interested in love-making told Paul that he, in turn, had been forgiven. 

He waited, breath held as Richard’s hand slid down the front of his pyjama bottoms, movements returning to their more self assured motions now that he knew he wasn’t about to be rejected; Paul’s eyes closed, lips parting in a sigh of relief when he felt Richard’s fingers curl around his cock. Richard’s palm was warm and gentle as he began to stroke Paul, breath warm and tickling against Paul’s throat. Paul's hips began to move in time with Richard’s hand, as he thrust his cock into the circle of the other man’s fingers; arousal pooled in his abdomen, as he began to harden beneath Richard’s touch. He felt the other man move and shift a little further against him, hand moving quicker now; Paul groaned loudly, hands bunching into the sheets beneath him as Richard stroked him insistently into full hardness. 

He felt Richard move a little further into the curve of his body; the other man’s cock was a stiff line against his hip. Paul moaned a quiet - yes - at the contact, which encouraged Richard to paw Paul’s pyjama bottoms awkwardly down with one hand. Paul helped the other man to push the restrictive material over his hips before he kicked the offending item away. He felt, rather than saw, Richard shrug his way out of his own pyjamas, before the bed dipped when Richard moved to fish the lube out of the bedside cabinet. 

Paul smiled and settled further onto his back, until Richard knelt between his legs. He waited while the other man uncapped the lube, waited again until he felt the first press of slick fingers against his entrance. He made a small noise at first intrusion, followed by a louder moan when Richard waited too long to move again. He heard a deep chuckle emanating in the darkness, before the other man began to prepare him; Paul hips moved in time with Richard’s hand again, rising and falling with every motion, until finally he pleaded with Richard to do something, anything more than tease him. Another chuckle in the darkness and Richard eased away; Paul impatiently waited until the other man laid on top of him again; their limbs seemed to tangle and to get in each other’s way until Paul hiked his heels up to rest against the small of Richard’s back, allowing the other man better access to his body.

He waited as Richard guided himself inside him, every movement slow whilst Richard waited for Paul to adjust; Paul’s initial cry was a harsh one, bitten off with an abrupt, aroused moan when Richard finally began to move. Their love-making began slowly, movements soon turning desperate, hands clinging and caressing as hips met and parted roughly; Paul cried out loudly when he came and Richard’s name was the only word on his lips, repeated and repeated like it was the only one that mattered; right then, it was the only one that actually did. He was still riding the last of his orgasm when Richard came a few moments later, Paul’s name a noisy blast of air against Paul’s neck, until Richard lay still atop him.

Richard finally eased away, and Paul winnowed away from the wet spot left upon the sheets, before he snuggled up against Richard’s heated, sweating body; he felt the weight of Richard's arm against him, but neither man spoke. He could feel Richard’s heart beating wildly in his chest, seeming to echo in time with Paul’s; he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Richard’s shoulder, harsh breathing seeming to echo Richard‘s own. 

They still were lying tangled together in a sated heap when they slipped slowly into contented sleep; neither man knew more until morning’s light filtered its way into the apartment, thin, grey fingers lighting up the far wall. It still was snowing, yet neither man cared as they slowly showered together and dressed in warm clothing; Richard excused himself later that morning, yet Paul did not bother to ask where he was going. Instead, he smiled privately over his steaming mug of hot chocolate and began the day’s chores, whilst he waited for the other man’s return.


End file.
